


Attainable Dreams (are the worst kind)

by esama



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Child Abuse, Dark, Drama, Gen, Human Experimentation, Intrigue, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cloud enters ShinRa and gets what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed

Cloud sat silently in the corner of the room, staring at his knees. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there – an hour? An hour waiting for results for his initial blood work and whatever else they were checking in ShinRa Laboratories to see if he'd be at all suitable for the SOLDIER.

Of course, he now knew that wouldn't be enough, no, nowhere near enough. The rumours of the SOLDIER candidate trials and the cadets and the academy and the training programs and all the other things they'd heard about in the Western Continent… well, they were just that rumours. There were no such things – SOLDIER wasn't something you could try to apply to. There wasn't entrance exam, there was no application offices, there was no basic training. Why? Because SOLDIER only recruited and even that very rarely.

But… there was one small chance. At least that what they'd told him. Apply for Infantry instead and have your blood work done. Chances were that if you performed well in the Infantry – and that meant _really damn well_ , top percentage of the top percentage level of well – then you might end up being recruited to the program. Maybe. At some point.

The advice he'd gotten from the people down in ShinRa Employment Offices was, "If it's just SOLDIER you're interested in, get your blood work done immediately. They can tell within like half an hour whether or not you're suitable for the SOLDIER treatments. You don't want to spend a couple of years in the Infantry doing crap you don't want to be doing only to find out that you've been wasting your time."

So, he was waiting for the final verdict. If his blood would take Mako… or if it wouldn't. If yes, then he'd go to the Infantry and… maybe… one day do well enough to catch the eye of the SOLDIER program. If not then… then…

Then what?

Squeezing his hands into fists, Cloud glared at his knees. He'd saved money for years to come to East. Scraping together gil after gil doing summer jobs and running errands, laboriously counting every bit until finally he could afford the many tickets that finally carried him to Midgar. If had taken him so long… only to find this, at the end? And if after all of this he wasn't even suitable, if he'd never be SOLDIER… then, then what? Then what would he do?

He didn't have the money to go back to West. He barely had enough money to… do anything, really. He'd come to ShinRa Tower straight from the train station because he didn't have the money for anything else. If he couldn't… if he didn't have place at ShinRa, if his hopes were for nothing…

Where would he go, where would he stay? Cloud had no idea. Hell, he didn't know anything else about Midgar except that the ShinRa HQ was there.

All the years spent preparing and he hadn't prepared for any of it.

Shit.

"Cloud Strife! Please head to the room 21F – you'll be seen to there," the nurse called from the slot in the wall and Cloud stood up jerkily, hoisting his duffle bag over his shoulder. He walked past the other people waiting – ShinRa Employees for the most part – and then looked at the doors lining the hall, checking the big bold letters on their front. 21C, 21D, 21E…

The room 21F was a sort of examination room, with a gurney, sink beside the door and a desk with a computer terminal on the side. There was no one there and nervously Cloud dropped his bag under the sink so that it wouldn't be in the way. Then, uneasy, he sat on the gurney and waited, nervous and maybe freaking out because oh god what was he going to do if he wasn't good enough, what would he do, just, what, _what_?

It took a long time before anyone arrived. The minutes ticked by, excruciatingly slow. One, three, five. Ten…. It was almost twenty five minutes and Cloud was beyond freaking out. His butt was going numb on the gurney and he really needed to take a piss and oh god had they just forgotten him, did anyone even know he was here, what if this was a mistake, _what if_ –?

Then the door opened – and it wasn't a person in a lab coat like he'd expected. Instead, it was a man in a dark blue suit and tie, who opened the door and eyed him. "Cloud Strife?" he asked.

"Yes?" Cloud squeaked. "Uh, sir?"

The man looked him over, and Cloud felt every inch the dirty ragged country boy he was. He hadn't had a shower since Junon and damn it why hadn't he gotten that hair cut he meant to – his hair still trailed down his back and it probably looked stupid and pathetic and oh god why was he such a _damn_ –?

The man in the suit stepped in and as Cloud watched, almost vibrating with the nerves now, the man closed the door – and locked it behind him. He was a kind of imposing looking guy, dark hair, beard, scar on his cheek, the sort of tired-of-your-bullshit no-nonsense look about him that made Cloud pretty sure he was in trouble.

"Right," the man said, and took out a handset, flipping it over. "Born August 11, 1986 in Nibelheim General Clinic to Miss Skye Strife, then age 23?"

Cloud swallowed. Well. _Shit_. "Uh. Born 1984, sir?" he asked with very, very faint hope.

The man gave him unimpressed look and turned the handset around, showing what looked like a scan of a document. "This is your birth record, isn't it? The real one, not the fake one you showed the nurse."

Cloud's shoulders slumped. He had no idea if it was or not – the thing was too small on the screen for him to tell if it was. It didn't matter. Apparently, he hadn't fooled anybody. "Probably, sir," he answered glumly. Infantry didn't take anyone below age 16, and he knew it – and this guy knew it too, judging by his expression. At age 14, well… he was screwed.

"Hmm," the scarred man hummed and looked over the handset screen again. "Blood type AB positive, no known diseases or allergies," he listed lazily. "No shots either, I'm guessing your mother couldn't afford them?"

Cloud shrugged awkwardly, staring at his knees, cursing everything silently in his head.

"Your father isn't listed in here," the man commented, giving him a look.

Cloud shrugged again.

"Well?" the man asked, frowning slightly at his silence.

"I don't know who it is," Cloud answered finally, and made a face. "Mom slept around, okay? It could be like… two dozen different guys." Not that anyone of them would've ever wanted to take the credit, and not that his mom would've even let them. His mother had been… wild when she'd been younger and extremely uninterested in long term relationships. Still was, actually.

Cloud couldn't say he was happy with that – being the only bastard in Nibelheim wasn't exactly fun position to be in. He'd… rather hoped it just wouldn't matter here. But apparently no, it followed him everywhere he went – he'd always be the Bastard. Damn it all.

"I see," the man said, staring at him silently for a moment. "Please wait here."

Cloud frowned a bit as the man stepped out of the room, leaving him to wait on the gurney for some more. And some more.

It was almost ten minutes before the guy stepped back into the room. He looked thoughtful as he did and for a moment he just stared at Cloud, stroking his chin like he was debating on whether to not Cloud was worth the effort.

"You want to join the SOLDIER, wasn't it?" the man then asked, and walked over to the computer desk, pulling the chair from it and to face Cloud. "That was what you came here to do, according to the Employment Offices."

"Uh, yeah?" Cloud answered, and resisted the urge to lean back. The guy sat down, facing him, one leg crossed over another – and even though he was now lower than Cloud, it was somehow so much worse, to have him sitting there, staring at him.

It made it seem like this would take a while.

"Why do you want to join SOLDIER?" the man asked.

Cloud almost bit his lip at that, but resisted that urge too – he knew it made him look childish. "I…" wanted to be a hero, and famous, and well known. _Famous_ , like Sephiroth. He wanted the assholes in Nibelheim to see his name in newspapers and _weep_ with jealousy. He cleared his throat. "I want to be strong," he said instead.

The dark haired man arched an eyebrow. "Strong?" he asked flatly.

"Yeah," Cloud answered, nodding, and refused to look away. It was probably ridiculous yeah, but… less petty than the actual reason anyway. And he kind of figured that they probably didn't want petty people in SOLDIER. "I want to be strong. I want to be… powerful."

He was an idiot.

That made the man narrow his eyes a bit. "Powerful," he repeated and leaned back a little, folding his arms and for a moment just staring at him. "There are many types of power," he then said. "Influence, knowledge, money… Physical prowess is a very minor thing compared to them."

Cloud shook his head slowly. "I got no influence, I didn't go to a school and I got no money," he answered awkwardly.

"Ah," the man said and nothing else for a while, eying him. "Say you make it to SOLDIER," he said. "Say you get the treatments, and become strong. Then what?"

For a moment Cloud wasn't sure what to say to that. He'd kind of lost all hope already but… "Then… then I'm SOLDIER?" Cloud asked. "And I do what SOLDIERs do? I work as SOLDIER?"

"And that's it?" the man asked wryly. "You… work as SOLDIER?"

"Isn't that the point?" Cloud asked. "You become a SOLDIER and then you work as one? Uh," he frowned a little. Damn it – for all his dreaming he suddenly realised he didn't actually know what SOLDIERs did, aside from just _being_ SOLDIER. "Unless SOLDIERs go to the Infantry? Then I guess, I become, uh, solider in the Infantry."

The dark haired man just stared at him flatly for a long moment. "You're not prepared at all, are you?"

Cloud sighed and stared at his knees. "I… I guess not, huh," he muttered and kicked the air – and then stopped because that probably made him look like a kid too.  "Um. Am I in trouble, then?"

"Hm," the man hummed and didn't answer. "SOLDIER isn't easy life. They're ShinRa's warriors," he said. "Not even military, really – more ShinRa's attack dogs, really. They're sent to the highest risk areas, to do the high risk missions – they kill and they destroy in ShinRa's name. And that's pretty much it."

Cloud shrugged his shoulders. "I guess," he said. That was kind of the impression he'd gotten from the news anyway. Sephiroth… only made news when he'd destroyed this or that Wutai fortress or village, fought in this or that battle. He was ShinRa's hero. Their killer.

"Are you really prepared to do that, for ShinRa?" the man in a suit asked, watching him steadily. "To kill what ShinRa tells you to kill, to destroy what ShinRa tells you to destroy?"

"Well… yeah?" Cloud asked and looked at the man. "That's… what SOLDIER do."

"You want to do that?" the man asked, narrowing his eyes a little. "To kill and destroy?"

"… yes."

There was a moment of silence as the man stared at him, and Cloud realised a it belatedly that he sounded like a murder, saying that. He coughed awkwardly. "I mean. If I have to?" he said. "I don't really, I mean, I don't do that normally, I'm not like that – uh," he stopped awkwardly. "I'd do what I have to."

"I see," the man said, both eyebrows high now, still staring at him like there was something wrong with him. "I see," he said again and then brushed a hand over his mouth and Cloud wasn't entirely sure, but the guy looked in part contemplative, and in part… sick.

Damn it, he was really messing this up.

Cloud's shoulders slumped and he stared at his knees again. Fuck, what was he going to do after they kicked him out? Where would he go? Midgar was probably so expensive, there was no way he could find a place to stay or –

The man stood up suddenly and Cloud could feel himself shrinking, preparing for the shoe to drop. "Come with me," the man said and Cloud nodded, dropping down from the gurney. By the time he'd grabbed his bag, the guy was already out of the room, and Cloud had to jog to catch up with him.

Silent, he followed the suited man all the way to the elevators and then inside. Not looking forward to being kicked out, Cloud didn't look up until he realised that the elevator trip was taking way too long.

They were at the 56th level, by the time he realised they weren't going down at all – they were going _up_. 57, 58, 59…

"Um," Cloud said quietly. "What's going on?"

Oh god was he going to be taken to the top and then thrown off the roof?

"You're have a meeting with the President," the man said.

Cloud stared at him. "What?"

He got an arched eyebrow in answer. "You," the suited man said slowly. "Are going to meet the President of ShinRa Electric Power Company. In approximately…" The man checked his watch, "…twenty seconds."

Before Cloud's mind could even _try_ to catch up with that utterly ridiculous statement, the elevator stopped. Level 69, it said on the screen atop the door, and as Cloud fought with the urge to piss his pants, the door opened automatically and the man in blue suit stepped out. His knees jerking as if they wanted to give up, Cloud followed.

They were in some sort of forayer area and while Cloud looked around wildly, the suited man led him away from the elevators and to a staircase leading up and to the highest floor, the 70th floor. Which, Cloud realised the moment they made it up the stairs… was President Shinra's personal office. The whole floor was the office.

It was open and as ridiculously imposing as you'd expect of President Shinra's office to be. There were windows at all sides, showing open view of Midgar all around them and Cloud felt a moment of terrible vertigo as he realised that he was on the top floor of the highest building in the world. Then he saw the desk and behind it… President Shinra himself.

"Ah, Veld," the man said, glancing their way from the desktop terminal he'd been typing at. He was a heavy set man with blond hair slicked back and light, thick moustache over his mouth. "And this… is the boy."

"Yes, sir," the man in suit answered and motioned Cloud to step forward – which, shakily, he did. "This is Cloud Strife of Nibelheim, age fourteen – son of Skye Strife."

"Hmm," the President hummed, looking Cloud up and down and then standing up. He was… shorter than Cloud thought he would. "It doesn't ring a bell," the man mused. "But truth be told, I don't remember much of Nibelheim. Busy time, that."

Cloud's whole mind went blank at that, and he didn't even notice the President walking around his desk until the man was in front of him. Then he felt a heavy hand on his face, and looked up as President Shinra tilted his face his way and that by his chin.

The man had blue eyes. He had blue eyes. He had _Cloud's_ blue eyes.

"She must've been a beauty though," the President mused, sounding almost… pleased.

"Yes, sir," Veld answered and took out his handset. He hit few buttons and then turned it around, showing the screen to the President – and on it, mortified Cloud could see his mother's latest mugshot. "This is Skye Strife," Veld said. "A later picture, granted, taken five years ago."

The President glanced at the image and then shrugged, turning to Cloud again. "I suppose you didn't know," he commented and released Cloud's chin. "That your mother had an affair with the most powerful man on the planet. Did you, boy?"

Cloud blinked and then, as the expectant silence stretched, he stuttered out, "I didn't… sir."

His mind was sluggishly starting to catch up now and holy shit, holy shit, _holy shit_.

"Don't let it get into your head, boy. I've had many affairs," the President quaffed. "I have more bastards than most people have _relatives_. You are one in many and utterly insignificant to me."

Cloud swallowed, his blood running cold. "… yes, sir," he choked out.

"Hmph," the President snorted. "Better manners than the last one," he said and then turned his back to Cloud, heading back behind the desk. "So, boy, you want to join the SOLDIER?" he asked as he took seat.

"Yes, sir," Cloud answered, trying not to shake as badly as he felt like he was shaking.

"And that was before you knew of your, ah, relations to the company," the President said and smiled meanly at him, leaning his elbows on the desk and crossing his hands. "What do you think _now_ , boy?"

Cloud swallowed again, his mouth feeling parched, his blood pounding in his ears. He didn't, he had no idea… holy shit was he even supposed to _think_ about this? He had no idea, but he knew he didn't have time to hesitate, now, because the President of ShinRa Electric Power Company – the most powerful man on the planet, yes – was staring at him like trying to decide whether or not to have him _shot_.

"I… want to be SOLDIER, sir," Cloud said because he knew that, at least.

"Oh, really?" the President asked, amused. "Even if you're related to myself, my _son_? Don't you think you could have something more from this company, a better position in it? Power and wealth – that's what the name of Shinra brings, you know. Don't you want a part in that?"

"I want to be SOLDIER, sir," Cloud said again, and squeezed his hands into fists. "It's all I want, sir."

"Hmph," the President answered and then leaned back on his throne like chair. Somewhat ridiculously Cloud looked at him and felt weird, vague feeling of _unfairness_. President Shinra had a strong jaw line. Cloud on other hand his mother's dainty chin. Unfair.

What the hell was he even thinking?

There was a moment of long, contemplative silence as the President stared at him and Veld stood silently at Cloud's side. "SOLDIER," the President said slowly. "Is a failed experiment."

Cloud froze. "S-sir?"

The President smiled at him coolly. "It failed, the SOLDIER project," he said. "Yes, we are still recruiting people, training them up to be ShinRa's powerful warriors. The overall benefits still outweigh the project budget. But overall, the project is considered failed. One third of the subjects don't make it. The treatments fail, the subjects turn insane – some of them die mid conversion or turn into Makonoids. Monsters. And even the ones that survive degrade."

"D-degrade, sir?"

"Their cells fail," the President explained. "The Mako interferes with their cell duplication process or some such – and they don't heal properly. If their wounds close at all, they scar terribly. It's gotten to the point that they're all assigned Cure Materia and potions, because it's the only thing that can keep them alive, after they get injured. Sometimes, even that doesn't work."

The President snorted. "And those few that still heal and survive? They'll age rapidly. Ten years, and they'll all be old men, as far as their insides go. Muscular atrophy, organ failure… the first SOLDIERs we converted are all dead now, you know. Heart attacks, liver failures, strokes by the dozen."

Cloud stared at him, horrified.

President Shinra smiled at him, wry and mirthless. "You'll be strong, for five, maybe ten years. You'll be one of the strongest men on the planet. Then you wither, and die, and it will either be sudden, or painful. Either way, it won't be pretty," he said mercilessly. "So. You want to join SOLDIER?"

"Uh," Cloud started and then had no idea how to continue – he just stared at the man, speechless.

The President turned his eyes to Veld. "Take him to Hojo," he ordered and then turned to his terminal. "And Strife?"

"S-sir?" Cloud stuttered, his voice thin and shaking.

"Breath a word of any of this to anyone, and I will have your mother shot."

Cloud opened his mouth and nothing came out. The President wasn't even looking at him anymore, but he nodded shakily and mouthed, "… yes, sir," soundlessly.

"Come on," Veld said quietly and then turned to leave. When Cloud failed to follow, the man grabbed him by the elbow. "Come _on_ ," he hissed under his breath and numbly Cloud followed the man, away from the enormous office, down the stairs and then to the elevator.

"I… I don't… what?" Cloud asked, looking at Veld who was staring at him with a frown. "S-sir? What is going to happen to me?"

"You're getting your wish," the man said, his tone almost apologetic. "You're going to become SOLDIER, Strife."

Cloud stared at him, his eyes wide, his knees shaking, every breath hurting his suddenly tight and aching throat. Then he looked down as the elevator descended, and it was all he could do to not break out into tears.


	2. Chapter 2

When Lazard got the message from the Science Department that he could go and pick up his SOLDIER, he wasn't particularly surprised. Not that he'd actually sent anyone to the Science Department as of late – he avoided it when ever he could, really. But the ShinRa company was what it was and as much as he hated it, Professor Hojo never actually needed him to send anyone over to mess with them. Nor did he need a permission. Or even a _reason_.

After taking a moment to calm down and privately curse everything ShinRa was and stood was. Lazard smoothed a hand across the front of his suit and once he was sure he wouldn't strangle Hojo if he happened to across the man, he headed for the elevators and there, to the level 68, to see which one of his SOLDIERs had the good professor decided to torture this time.

The only comfort he had was the fact that Sephiroth, Angeal and Genesis were all in Wutai currently. Thank someone for small mercies.

The science department was it's mess when he entered it, harried looking nurses and assistants running about after Hojo's every whim and mood swing, carrying lab animals and test tubes and Materia around, for who knew for what purpose. Lazard ignored them and headed to the front desk instead.

"I hear you have one of my SOLDIERs here," he said and even to his own ears he sounded furious.

The nurse behind the counter winced a little at the tone, leaning back. "Ah, yes, Director," the woman said and tapped a few keys on her terminal. "You'll find him in lab 5, sir," she said and offered him a feeble smile. "The conversion process went without a hitch, sir."

"Conversion," Lazard repeated slowly. Conversion. SOLDIER conversion? "Wonderful," he said tightly. "That's great news."

"Yes sir," the woman said, relaxing with obvious relief and then motioned him to the end of the corridor. "Lab 5 is just over there. The door should be open."

Lazard nodded, his hands squeezed so tightly into fists that he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He turned, swallowing bile, and then headed across the corridor.

Wonderful, indeed. He'd been the Director of SOLDIER for better part of three months now, and the other departments were still doing recruiting for him. Which had it been this time? Heidegger getting rid of the worst dregs of the infantry, Hojo noticing someone interesting and toying with them for the hell of it? Or just Turks doing their… duty in finding the most supposedly promising individuals out there, and, ah, recruiting them.

Their supposedly promising individuals usually tended to be the company's loudest opposes and they usually tended not to survive the recruitment process. The fact that this one had, and apparently successfully too…

He should have brought a SOLDIER with him.

Lazard pushed the door to the lab open and cast a glance over the iron maidens as the SOLDIERs called them. Most of the conversion chambers were open and empty, the fronts propped up and the inner walls of the roughly man shaped interiors covered in gleaming needles. In his time Lazard had seen them in use more times than he cared to count, and honestly he wasn't sure how anyone survived the process at all. Or why anyone would want it.

But then… before they were actually shoved into the high tech coffins, no one actually knew what the SOLDIER conversion process was like. They thought it was a surgery of some sort, maybe a course of drugs and such. Poor bastards.

There was one iron maiden which was closed, the inside gleaming with light. Lazard walked over and after checking the control panel, he hit the open button. There was a hiss of escaping air and the lab was flooded with stench of Mako, as the front of the iron maiden clicked open and then lifted up and aside…

"Fuck," Lazard muttered with a feeling as he saw the naked body inside, slumped against the needles still digging into his flesh from all sides, hundreds of puncture marks on his skin leaking blood and Mako.

It was a kid. Scrawny little boy, thin enough to look underfed, with pale skin and long blond hair plastered all over his forehead and neck by sweat, Mako and blood, his childish face still slightly soft with baby fat.

A fucking _kid_.

Lazard swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and for a moment he felt a terrible urge to just shoot somebody, anybody really. The smiling nurse at the counter, maybe. Hojo for sure. And everyone in between.

He didn't. Instead he grabbed hold of the kid's shoulders and pulled his limb body away from the iron maiden, away from it's needles. The kid slumped forward and into his arms, and Lazard gritted his teeth. The kid was light. Too light. Light enough for him, a guy with no enhancements what so ever, to easily catch him, and to hold him up. Thin, small, short…

Everything SOLDIER weren't supposed to be.

It was a small mercy the boy was unconscious as Lazard lowered him to the floor. It was a extra bit of cruelty, he thought grimly, that the conversion lab didn't have a gurney for the patients, or a wheelchair. There wasn't even a normal chair there – just the conversion chambers and nothing else.

Crouched in front of the kid, Lazard checked the kid's pulse – rapid, but beating strong – and then his eyes – pupils shining, but responsive to light. The boy was also sweating. All good signs. He'd probably survive – and if the treatment was going to have any so called unprecedented side effects, it already would've happened.

For a moment Lazard just hovered over the boy, wondering which of ShinRa's many corrupt bastards had decided to send the kid to be converted into a SOLDIER, and what had boy – or his family – done to deserve such level of attention. He wondered whether the kid surviving was a going to bite him in the ass – because from here on out the kid, whatever or whoever he was… he was Lazard's responsibility. Damnit all.

Sighing with disgust, he picked the kid's file from beside the Coffin the kid had been in, and looked it over, feeling sick to his stomach as he leafed through the pages.

The kid was fourteen. A fourteen year old little country boy from West Continent, under weight, under height limitations, under age – he didn't pass any of the standard qualifications for SOLDIER, and yet here he was. Covered in sweat, blood and Mako. Probably tears too.

"Shit," Lazard muttered with feeling, and the boy stirred on the floor, drawing a gasping, pained breath. Moment later, the boy's eyes opened and he looked around with pained expression, first staring at the floor ahead of him, and then at Lazard.

"Cloud Strife?" Lazard said and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Welcome to SOLDIER."

The boy just stared at him, his eyes narrowed with pain. There was horror on his face too, terrible knowing horror that made Lazard lean back a little. The boy didn't say anything, didn't even try – he just stared at him like Lazard had just told him he was dying. It was dream of all country boys world over to be a SOLDIER and become a big name hero like Sephiroth – and this kid was staring at him like Lazard had just…

Shit.

The kid knew. He _knew_ it was death sentence.

Lazard lifted his head a bit, eying the kid with suspicion. He wanted to ask who'd recruited him, why a fourteen year old kid had been converted at all… but he knew better. The answers would get him involved and even if they didn't… it didn't matter.

The kid was a SOLDIER now, never mind the reason why.

So instead Lazard cast a look around just in case the kid had any personal belongings, and his eyes landed on a duffle bag on the side of the room.

"Yours?" he asked and the kid nodded, feeble. Nodding, Lazard picked it up and then rummaged through it for some clothes – first things he found was a white t-shirt which he handed at the kid. It would be ruined in a moment, he knew – Mako stains weren't something you could just wash off after all. But that hardly mattered now. "Put it on."

The boy just breathed for a moment before struggling to lift his hand, to grab the shirt, to pull it on. His every move looked like it hurt, like it took all his strength. But he didn't complain.

Good.

"Once I get you to the SOLDIER levels, I can have someone cast a couple of cures on you, should take care of the worst pain," Lazard said, digging a pair of trousers from the bag and handing them over too. "But you're going to have to walk under your own power."

Strife looked at him silently and nodded, before struggling into the trousers, staining them with blood and Mako as he did, soaking the fabric through. The shirt was already stained faintly green and pink in places – couple of days and it would start breaking apart. Well, hopefully by then the kid would have something proper to wear.

Looking him over Lazard mused somewhat morbidly that he'd had to get a uniform special made for the kid – no way did they have anything small enough. A kid sized SOLDIER uniform. Hell.

Once fully clothed, Strife forced himself to stand and though Lazard could see the boy's knees shaking, he offered no help. He just waited until Strife looked like he was about ready to walk, and then handed the duffle bag to the boy. The look Strife gave at that was almost pitiful and Lazard didn't judge him for it.

But he didn't give mercy, either.

"SOLDIER isn't a nice place," Lazard said quietly. Whether the kid had been forced into it or not, or didn't matter. He was in it now and that was that. "And nobody is going to hold your hand."

Strife eyed him and then swallowed, squared his shoulders… and took the duffle bag without a word.

As he and the still shaky boy left the lab and it's row of iron maidens behind, Lazard didn't realise it yet – but it was the last time Cloud Strife would ever ask for help again.

 

* * *

 

 

"The SOLDIER floors are through floor 48 to floor 51, though you only will have the run of floors 48,49 and 50 – 51 is for official business only," Lazard said as they stood on the elevator, heading down to the SOLDIER floors. "That's where my office, along with the offices the First Classes and the Generals. For now, you will mainly stick to floors 48 and 49, I expected – 48 is the residential area and 49 is the general SOLDIER floor where you can expect to find anything you need as a SOLDIER, from training rooms and gyms to the library and requisitions office."

Strife didn't answer – he was not so subtly leaning against the wall, but he was still shuddering slightly. No doubt his wet clothes had gotten cold.

"You will have a room on level 48 – a twin room you will share with another SOLDIER Third Class," Lazard continued, looking at him. "SOLDIER Seconds have their own private rooms and SOLDIER First Class have small apartments. So it might be you don't have to share for long."

Strife didn't say anything, but he frowned a little at the floor, swaying. Lazard looked him up and down and pressed his lips together. "You won't get far if you refuse to speak, however."

Strife's cheek twitched as he grit his teeth. "I don't have much to say, sir," he said, his voice rough and raw. "So I don't, sir."

Lazard folded his arms. "Hm. Well, I suppose we're hardly in public relations business here. So as long as you know to speak when spoken to, and request information when you need it, it shouldn't be a problem. I assume you have no experience with army life?"

Strife shook his head, non-verbal again.

"SOLDIER isn't as conformist as the infantry and we hardly ever stand on attention – SOLDIER are a special elite, for special missions, not for show and tell. But you will need to learn number of things in order to perform acceptably on field," Lazard said sternly. "For that purpose, I will be assigning you a course of audio lectures – which you will listen to, and memorise to the best of your ability during your post-conversion downtime."

Strife's frown turned a little puzzled at that – probably had been expecting teachers, maybe lectures, most new SOLDIERs were. But he nodded.

"Do you have a handset?" Lazard asked, ignoring it. "Or any other device you can download the audio lectures to?"

Another non-verbal negative.

Lazard sighed. " _No sir_ , or _yes sir_ ," he said slowly.

"No, sir," Strife answered, dull, inflectionless. It was better than obstinate stubbornness, but not by much. Whoever ended up the kid's first mission commander was going to have _great_ time with him.

"You'll be assigned a handset then," Lazard said, biting back another sigh. "Along with standard SOLDIER gear and everything else you will need. For now, however you have two weeks of downtime to acclimate to your enhancements. During that time you are expected to spent at least four hours every day at the gym – on floor 49. Target goals for your post-conversion changes will be emailed to you once you have a handset, and you're expected to meet them before end of your two week down time. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Strife answered, though it was obvious he didn't understand any of it.

Lazard ran a hand over his face. This was hard. He'd given the welcome speeches to only handful of men so far… but that was just it – they had been mainly _men_ , the youngest of whom had been sixteen. Strife was so young, so small and so obviously confused…

It was just hard, impossible even, to see the kid as a man, as a soldier, as a warrior. Even while still stinking of fresh Mako and the kid still looked like, well, a child and not a SOLDIER. The Mako Shine in his eyes just made them look wide and hurt and innocent – not intense and predatory like it did with most SOLDIER. Didn't help that the kid was all over blood and the thin, wet shirt clung to his bony shoulders, making him seem even thinner. Even the long hair didn't help – dirty and messy, it hung limp down his back, and just made him look younger.

He was just so damn pitiful, standing there swaying like newborn calf so confused and lost and trying so not to show it.

And yet Lazard couldn't pity the kid, that wouldn't help anyone. Certainly not the kid himself.

"Tomorrow, 0800, head up to level 49, and there to requisitions," Lazard said. "Get your phone, gear and uniform from there. You will get instructions and information mainly on your phone. Pay attention to them when you do. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Strife answered, a little surer this time.

"Good," Lazard said and looked up as the doors opened in front of them, revealing SOLDIER floor 48 front hall. It basically a cafeteria really, with tables and chairs and couple of water fountains on the side, view screens on the walls displaying news. There was self serve counter on the side, still full of food, and there were couple of SOLDIER Seconds there, having a late lunch judging by the looks of it.

"Sir!" the first man who spotted Lazard said, throwing a casual salute – but already, eyes were being drawn on Strife. Not that Lazard was surprised.

There wasn't a man here who didn't know what the puncture marks, the chemical sheen and the sheer _stink_ of Mako meant.

"SOLDIERs," Lazard greeted the men, glancing between them. Three Third Classes and four Second Classes. "Does anyone have a cure equipped?"

"I do, sir," one of the Seconds said and quickly stood up, lifting his left arm and the bangle he had equipped. At Lazard's nod, he turned to Strife and cast the cure without further orders – it washed over Strife in shimmer of green light, and though it did nothing to the stains, it did close the puncture marks.

Strife shuddered silently and swayed – and then stood a little steadier. "Thank you, sir," he said, voice still rough.

"Shit, sir," the SOLDIER muttered and glanced up at Lazard. Even with the helmet, Lazard could feel the judgement in his stare.

Lazard said nothing to that. Instead he took out his phone, and quickly flicked through room assignments and then spotted a Third Class room with only one occupant. The occupant, SOLDIER Third Class, Luxiere, was currently on a mission, however. That wouldn't do – he needed someone who was here now… someone who could take Strife in hand and show him the ropes.

The SOLDIERs were starting to whisper now, casting looks at obviously-too-young-Strife. Better move on.

"Follow me," Lazard said and Strife did, stumbling after him with only slightly steadier feet. Lazard led him down the corridor past the cafeteria, until they reached room A6, where he buzzed the doorbell.

It was opened in a flash by a young SOLDIER in his underwear, who blinked blearily at them from inside a darkened room. "Eh?" the SOLDIER said and then blinked at Lazard. "Shit, _sir_!" he said and stood in some semblance of attention. "Sorry, sir, I had night mission and –"

"At ease," Lazard said and looked the young SOLDIER over. He was just a month post first conversion and he'd already settled in pretty well, judging by the looks of it. Hopefully it would be enough. "SOLDIER Third Class, Fair?" he asked.

"Yes, sir?" the SOLDIER said, blinking.

"I'm reassigning you to a different room," Lazard said and motioned at Strife. "You'll be sharing with SOLDIER Third Class, Strife, from here on out."

"Uh," Fair said, blinking blearily at him and then down at Strife, who at 151 centimetres barely reached either of their shoulder. "Holy _shit_ ," he said eloquently, looking him up and down and then scrunching his nose at the Mako stench.

"Is the room reassignment a problem, SOLDIER Fair?" Lazard asked sharply.

"No, sir," Fair said, still staring at Strife. "It's… fine. I guess. Just… uh," he shook his head and then held out a hand to Strife. "Zack Fair, SOLDIER for two months now. You a fresh convert?" he asked, wincing.

Strife hesitated for a moment but took the hand. "Cloud Strife," he said and nothing else.

"Riight," Fair said, scratching the back of his neck and looking at Lazard. "Uh…"

"You two will be moving to room F3," Lazard said, tapping few keys on his phone and sending the resignation order to Fair's handset. "I trust you can show Third Class Strife around."

"Well, yeah, I guess, it's no problem. I mean I got missions and stuff, but in between, yeah," Fair said, looking down at Strife. He made a face and obviously wanted to ask – but to his credit, he didn't. "Well, I guess we're moving then. Wanna help me carry my stuff, Cloud – I can call you Cloud, right?"

"Yes… sir," Strife answered, awkward and after one final glance at Lazard, he stepped into the dark room after Fair.

Lazard turned on his heel and left them to it. Anything else, and it would be favouritism, and whatever Strife's case was, Lazard couldn't afford neither the connection to whatever Strife was involved it, nor the accusations of favouritism. Assigning Strife with a potential ally, rather than potential enemy, might already pushing it.

Lazard walked past the SOLDIERs in the cafeteria and to the elevator, keeping his eyes up ahead and not meeting anyone's gaze. They'd judge him for it, he knew. SOLDIER was a harsh place, but they shared a bond no other military force on the planet had – they'd all felt the burn and price of Mako. Now they'd either take Strife under their wing, or they'd shake him loose as superfluous baggage – and Lazard would be blamed for Strife either way.

Nothing Lazard could do about that. And there was nothing he could do to soften the fall for Strife either.

He had no illusions about privacy of his management. They'd never stop watching his every move, analysing his every reaction. Strife might even be a test designed to mess with him, who knew. He had no intention of falling for it in either case. He was _not_ giving the oh so gracious heads of ShinRa any reason to interfere.

Not again.

So he would let things run their course, as if Strife was nothing but another new recruit, no stranger than any other. Strife being here might be a test, or it might be something the kid himself was involved in. It might even be something like Lazard's own position in the company. Judging by Strife's reaction, it probably was. And whatever else the kid was… he hadn't asked for help, or for pity, or mercy. He hadn't asked for anything, really. Hadn't folded and given up.

That, Lazard had to admit, was almost admirable, in a terrible sickening way.

So who knew. The kid might be able to handle it, handle his punishments and the life of SOLDIER and the early death to would bring him. He certainly didn't seem like he was about to give up outright. It was a small comfort, but… it was something.

But damn if it didn't sicken Lazard, the fact that he had to just swallow this.


End file.
